A Few Days with Two Mothers 9
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Set prior to Sara moving to Las Vegas as she and Grissom develop a trust. Pretty much fluff. This one is the last one before Sara moves. M Rating but nothing explicit or even close to it. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_We do not own a thing, not CSI, not these characters. If so---well, the show would be an entirely different one for Season 9!_

**A Few Days with Two Mothers Chapter 1**

"You know I can't hire someone on your say-so! Get real. The last three, no four, new hires have come straight from the top—'My daughter needs a job.' or some politico's son-in-law has just graduated with a degree in forensics. I haven't hired one single person without someone's influence in years." Jim Brass slid a short tumbler across the desk.

Gil Grissom's opinion was evident by the impatient look on his face. "She's good, Jim. I've seen her in action—her thought process is so fast, so astute, she's as close to a genius as I've ever been around. We need someone like her on this team."

The two men drained their glasses before Brass spoke again. "Gil, are you sleeping with this girl?"

The two men had known each other for years; Brass was technically Grissom's boss, but neither man considered that term or position as essential in their friendship. Most of the time, they chose to ignore their working relationship.

Brass continued. "You know the rule—she'd have to work on another shift, so you are talking to the wrong person. Get her on swing—half the time she'd be working with you."

"I want to work with her. Not stick her with Ecklie or that bunch on swing—and you know how hard it is to get a day shift position." Grissom leaned back in his chair and pinched his nose. "We are one down on grave. Bring her in as temporary—then we can slip her in as permanent."

Brass gave a sarcastic laugh. "You and I know that won't happen. The sheriff is sending someone's daughter in two weeks, fresh out of the academy." He shoved the glasses and bottle in the bottom drawer of his desk. "I'll see if I can do anything. How much notice would Sara need to get here?"

"Two weeks. I think she could come with two weeks notice." Grissom got up to leave waving at his friend as the door closed.

Both men realized the first question had not been answered.

SSGGSSGGSSGG

Sara had decided she enjoyed her infrequent visits to the community farm. She liked the quiet, the animals that were treated as family pets, and the food—she liked the common dinner table, the polite passing of food, the conversation between women who shared their lives. Sister Deborah was the one who made Sara welcome. Her own mother was too shy or too anxious when Sara arrived to converse, taking at least an hour to be able to do more than answer in one word responses.

By lunch time, Laura Sidle would be able to talk, laugh quietly, place a hand on her daughter's arm. By the time Sara left, the two women had walked around the farm, talking about Sara's job in general terms and her recent trip to an oasis. She did not tell everything, just about the hike and the water and the Indian village.

As she left, Sister Deborah extended the same invitation, seconded by her mother. "Bring your Las Vegas friend to see us. We don't have many visitors and the only men we see are the priests who come for our vegetables!" Sister Deborah was the unofficial social director for the community and each time Sara left, the nun made the same statement.

Sara did not promise to bring Grissom. She wasn't sure he was ready for this quiet house filled with nearly two dozen women and their religious devotion. She laughed to herself as she drove away—every time she drove out here she wasn't sure she was ready for this place. But, at the end of each visit, she knew it was the right place for her mother and that provided her with a level of satisfaction and relief.

If she could figure out what to do with the ongoing relationship with Gil Grissom, she could plan how to move forward with her life. Her big problem was living in Las Vegas—a place so strange and weird that it made San Francisco seem totally normal. Living in a desert where every thing green was artificial, or certainly seemed to be; where monumental buildings were being built as other cities might replace traffic signs held no appeal to her. Grissom was the enticement.

He had said he loved her. She smiled thinking of his words. He had taken her to a place he had never taken anyone else. He wanted to teach her to play golf. He wanted to work with her. She wanted to believe him—about everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Few Days with Two Mothers Chapter 2**

Her boss announced his official retirement. Everyone knew it was coming, but they were surprised that he actually set a date. Sara, more than others, would miss the man who gave her this job, who mentored and taught her and showed her how to work in a male dominated field. She knew he treated her with special attention—gave her plum cases, paid for most of her time and work done on the skull, let her have days off whenever she asked, made sure she was promoted. She had even told him about her mother, not everything, saying her mother was settled into a special living arrangement. He did not ask questions and she loved him for all these things.

He took her to dinner a week after his retirement, asking questions during the meal about everyone at work, the cases she was working, and, finally, he asked, "What are your plans, Sara?"

When she hesitated, he said, "I know Grissom wants you in Las Vegas. They have the number two lab in the country. You would be great—Vegas never stops. It would be an experience you would not get anywhere else." When she smiled, he leaned across the table, saying "Go for it, Sara. You are smart, confidant, enthusiastic—and, I know you have Grissom's support—probably more than his support—but I won't ask."

Sara smiled but would not talk about her relationship with Grissom.

Two days later, Grissom arrived at her apartment. He rented a car because she has asked in an email if he would like to visit her mother. Having a car available would make it easier but he would not ask; meeting her mother would have to be Sara's idea.

He waited on her steps where he had sat before and wondered how many more times he would wait on this same small landing. Her imprint on the apartment and its furnishings were obvious. A plant took up a corner of the outside space. Inside, she kept her possessions to a minimum yet the apartment was not sparse, having a comfortable look his townhouse lacked. He chuckled to himself—a female touch made the difference.

Sara took two steps at a time when she saw him, giggling with every step.

"How did you get here before me?" She asked as her arms went around his neck.

He never answered as she opened the door and they moved inside. Grissom cooked while she showered, appearing in the silky robe he had given her. He dropped his head when she stood at the door.

"How am I supposed to eat?" He chuckled as she sat down at the table.

She took the plate he passed. "I need energy. If you can't eat, I will!" She giggled as she lifted eggs on her fork. "We eat a lot of eggs, Grissom." She finished her food before asking, "Would you like to meet my mother?" She was smiling but apprehension showed in her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Few Days with Two Mothers Chapter 3**

He lifted an eyebrow. "I'd like that. I rented a car so we could get out of town if we wanted to." He said no more.

Sara laughed as she piled dishes in the sink. "We'll go tomorrow. I have a better idea for today. The bed is freshly made. It's cool. I've showered and I'm well fed." Her hands found his as she pulled him into the bedroom. "And I want you—seriously."

Grissom knew he never had to unbutton his shirt. Her nimble fingers could get him out of it faster than he could. He loved to smell her hair, her skin, to feel her hands on him, to see her dark eyes flash with excitement. He toed his shoes and unbuckled his belt. He knew there was not much to undress on her. She whispered his name as his hands removed the robe. After an absence of weeks and restraint while they ate, they hurried to find each other. He always thought of water when he was with her, of the rhythm of waves rolling to meet the shoreline—sometimes smooth and steady, other times crashing and pounding.

Sara had slipped from the bed while he dosed. When he woke he could see her silhouette against the bedroom windows; he had gotten her the robe but she wore his shirt as she gazed out the window. He pulled on his pants and joined her.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

Sara experienced a feeling of belonging, of intimacy as he moved near her. She thought of him in bed, making love to her, in a warm world of their own. She put her head against his shoulder and felt arms go around her.

"Sara," he said after a minute.

She lifted her head from his shoulder. In the dim light, she saw the shadow beneath his eyes, the tiny lines that crinkled at the corner of each eye, and his shoulders seemed oddly stiff. For the first time in months, she was afraid of their future.

"I was looking at the trees and flowers on the hillside. This is my window to the world—a small one, but my window." She touched his hair at his temple. "Can I be honest with you?" She asked.

"Sure." It was a confidant response, not expecting her next words.

Sara looked into his blue eyes, and then away. "I think I've fallen in love with you." She did not have to look at him to know he caught his breath. Something burned behind her eyes.

Slowly, his hands moved around her waist. "I love you, Sara." His voice sounded strange, as if he had been forced to say it. "And it scares me to death."

He pulled her to him, clutching, moving his hands to hold her head. She felt his heart pounding against her chest. In some way, they found her bed where they made love, slowly, deliberately without the hurried rush of earlier, until the afternoon sun filled the room with light. He explored her with his mouth, tickling and teasing in places known to an experienced lover. He knew how to excite her, to move her into that strange state of bliss that hovered between full consciousness and a gasping floating dream of pleasure. He watched as her eyes dilated black, felt her arch her back as she came to him, and drank in the fragrance of her body—that Sara smell he knew he would remember the rest of his life.

She curled against him fitting against the place where his arm and shoulder met; her hand resting against his chest.

"I think I've looked for you all my life," he told her. His eyes were fixed on her face, the slightest frown across his forehead.

She smiled. It was contagious and his lips curled into a grin. He said, "Are you okay?" Sara nodded.

Grissom's eyes drifted closed. She could not understand the quick sleep after sex; she was simmering with adrenaline and let one finger trace light circles in a tiny massage of his chest. She lay and listened to his regular breathing and to the sounds outside her windows. In her mind, this was the ultimate intimate act—not sex, anyone could have sex—but the physical closeness of lying naked under the sheet, content to hold each other, secure in sleep. She had never said the words she spoke to him to anyone else. It had taken her months to form the sentence and more weeks before she could say the words, but she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this man.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Few Days with Two Mothers Chapter 4**

Grissom did not sleep long and when his eyes flickered open, her brown ones were waiting. "I hope this was your plan for today." He teased as he said his words.

"It was. Today, in bed with you; tomorrow, you get to spend the day with nuns."

"And your mother."

Sara twisted to her belly and propped herself on his chest. "Grissom," she said, her tone changing to a solemn one. "About my mother—she's different. Not your typical mother."

He raised her hand to his lips. "Its okay, Sara. Because she's your mother, I know I'll like her."

"It's not that—sometimes I don't think I like her very much. Its—she doesn't talk much." She dropped her head to his chest. "She can be—confusing—something. I—we are not close." She rolled to her back and looked at the ceiling. "She—we never had—I don't know what to say—I want you to see where she lives. I guess I'm afraid."

"Don't be. We will be fine." He wanted to lighten this conversation, bring back the smile to her face. "I'll behave; I'll use my best Catholic school manners."

His comment brought back her laugh. "Is that where you learned all your polite behavior?"

That night they rode the city bus to the Japan Center finding Sara's favorite restaurant, eating with locals in this unsophisticated café. They shopped—or looked, as neither made a purchase—in antique stores with heavy, silk kimonos hanging from the ceiling, and wood chests and porcelain dinnerware. She insisted on walking back to her apartment, taking him on a twisting adventure along narrow streets crowded with parked cars.

They turned into an alley. Grissom smelled flowers, unlike the trash alleys of Las Vegas, this one was a walkway between buildings with hanging balconies that almost touched. Plants and flowers blocked out light from apartments above their heads.

"Watch your step." Sara warned.

Grissom tried to see what was in front of them and stumbled against a raised step. Her hand kept him from tumbling. "We go up a flight of steps." She kept her hand on his arm. "I forget how dark it gets through here, but it's a short cut to my street."

Just as quickly as they entered the alley, it opened up on a wide street just a few blocks from her apartment.

SSGGSSGGSSGG

"What do we do now?" He asked his question in the quietness of her living room. They had not bothered to turn on lights but music drifted in the open windows from some nearby source. They were content to enjoy the stillness of late night, neither one thinking it necessary to say a lot of words.

Grissom had found a snug place against her so he could watch her face in shadows. Now he saw the beginning of a smile, a tentative, almost shy one.

"We can do anything we want, Grissom." Her voice was soft, teasing, as her hands played with his shirt.

"Would you move to Vegas?"

She kept her hand on his chest and twirled her hair with the other. "Grissom, can we really work together? I don't want to be a target—you know how things turn into a soap opera. I don't want to be in that kind of situation." She bent to kiss his hair.

The music changed to a wordless melody; a slow song played by a band. Grissom untangled himself and stood, taking her hand. "Dance with me, Sara."

She giggled softly. "Here?" She stood.

He pulled her close, bringing her hand to his mouth where he kissed it. His other arm circled her waist. Slowly, she leaned into him as she felt his warm body, the whisper of his breath against her neck, and his gentle fingers against her back. They moved in a small circle, each finding what they wanted from the other with the soothing rhythm of someone else's music.

This was their world. No one knew, no one interrupted their time; this was the way they wanted it to be—peaceful, quiet, and isolated. Their lips brushed quickly before pressing close, neither hurried. This was their moment. Sara was the one who led him to the bedroom, and as distant music continued to play, she undressed as he watched from the bed. Her body glowed in the semi-darkness and he thought of an amoeba swimming in fluid, coming to find him, wrapping around him, enclosing him completely. He had lived forty years for this time and to find this woman.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Few Days with Two Mothers Chapter 5**

The next morning they ate breakfast before leaving her apartment. He asked her to tell him about a childhood memory, about her mother.

Sara stared out the window for minutes before she spoke. "For my birthday, she gave me a doll. I must have been four or five years old and I remember it wrapped in this elaborate paper and ribbon. It was this blonde haired beautiful doll in a pink dress." She turned to look at him. "Now I know it was an inappropriate doll for a little kid—but then I wanted to play with it. I got it out of the box—it was a big doll and she wore little white gloves and shoes." Her hands twisted her own hair, saying "Her hair was all curls and done up on her head and had little pearls stuck in the hair." She tried to laugh but it never got to that level and sounded like a cough instead.

"I went to my room, undressed the doll, combed her hair, and put her in a chair in nothing but her little white cotton panties. Took those pearls out of her hair—kept them for months. Never played with the doll, never dressed her again. My mother never got me another doll." She fingered her breakfast. "That's what I remember about my mother as a child. We just never really connected."

Grissom did not ask more questions. This should be an interesting day, he thought. They drove east crossing the Bay Bridge circling the city of Oakland and acres of housing developments. They left the main highway and most of suburbia behind as the roads kept getting smaller until they were driving on a farm road, a paved lane with no dividing line.

They talked of other things while driving. She pointed to an exit for Berkeley and its campus, to distant hillsides as the "rich" part of town, and to several parks along the main highway. She directed his turns as they passed fields and pastures, houses becoming widely spaced.

"The turn is right up here. There's the mailbox." Sara pointed to the plain box on a post. "Most people don't even know the place is back here."

For the first time, Grissom realized he was in one of the few remaining rural areas of California. He had not passed another vehicle in fifteen minutes. A slight rise shielded the farm from approaching visitors and when Grissom's car topped the ridge, he stopped. Before him he saw orchards, recognizing apple and pear trees, a large garden with figures bent over the lines of vegetables, around the garden were several types of bushes—berries, he thought, and finally a long house obviously reshaped to serve its current purpose. There was no evidence of commercial farming, no tractors moving in fields, no irrigation spiders spanning rows of crops.

Instead, the place was a step back in time; the barn with faded walls and tin roof, a house that would have been modern thirty or forty years ago, but now appeared as part of the landscape of trees, and flowers, and hedges. He saw the cross mounted on the roof as fitting as other houses would have a chimney.

"This is a beautiful place."

"It is," Sara said. "It's quiet and peaceful out here."

Several of the garden figures stood and waved at the car. "Do they expect us?" He asked.

Sara gave a laugh. "No, they don't. I never tell them when I'm coming. I just show up and it's always the same. They don't get many visitors."

He drove passed the barn and the garden, parking the rental car beside two older cars. By the time they were out of the car, a few women had appeared on the porch, one heading toward them without hesitation.

"Sister Deborah," Sara whispered. "Be prepared."

The nun got to Sara first pulling her into a bear hug, laughing and saying "Welcome, we are so happy you've come." She turned to Grissom. "And you've brought a friend!" Before Grissom could say a word, he was taken into an embrace by this tall, laughing woman. Sister Deborah cared not that she had never met this man; he got a two armed bear hug as everyone else who arrived at this community. The other women came from the garden, from the barn, and from the house, all crowding around Sara and her friend, all shaking his hand, smiling their welcomes.

Grissom addressed each one, repeating their names and, with instinct developed from years in school and church, he knew the Mother of this community, shaking her hand and dropping his head in a subtle acknowledgement of her status. He was polite, cordial, he was gracious, a gentleman visitor. Sara stood back and smiled.

He knew Sara's mother before she arrived; he recognized a similar walk, the turn of her head, and when he took her hand, he felt the long slim fingers that were so familiar to him. Yet, she was undistinguished from the others, all dressed in daily working clothes of various shades of blue and white, wearing an apron or a work jacket.

"I'm Gil Grissom."

Laura Sidle smiled. "Call me Laura." He was almost speechless. Mother and daughter shared many genes that mirrored each other. However, he saw a troubled past in the older face, eyes that met his for a second, a mouth that smiled but could not keep it on her face before ducking her head with the smile disappearing.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Two more chapters for this one. We will post the last one by Wednesday--maybe sooner! Enjoy! Thanks for reading._

**A Few Days with Two Mothers Chapter 6**

As with all gatherings to welcome visitors, a few women disappeared back into the house, a few returned to other work, and Grissom and Sara were left with Sister Deborah, Laura, and the leader of the community. The three women, including Sara, knew to let Sister Deborah talk. She asked a dozen rapid questions which required brief answers from Grissom before they reached the porch. He stood until each woman had found a chair before taking one left vacant.

Sara watched as their visitor answered questions and asked his own about the farm, about life in the community, his Catholic history evident as he and the women discussed different religious orders. When the conversation turned to plants, and mention was made of a spreading infestation of bugs, Gil Grissom's true interest peaked.

Bugs, Sara thought, was this planned or an accident? She tried to remember if she had ever mentioned he was an entomologist, she did not think so.

"Take him to the garden; show him those pesky little bugs." Sister Deborah said. "We'll ring the bell for lunch." She was accustomed to being in charge of any social event and today's lunch would be an event with company. "Sara can help us with lunch. It's a fine day—too fine for eating inside—don't you think so, Mother?"

Almost before Sara could speak, her mother and Grissom were leaving her for a garden bug and she was in the kitchen, handed an apron, and amid the preparations for lunch, she followed directions.

Preparing a meal for twenty plus two visitors was no simple task, but done so every day, it developed a routine. Chicken pieces were seasoned and placed in the large oven. Tomatoes and onions and garlic were cooking in a large pot. Pasta waited for last minute cooking. Several kinds of lettuce were washed, dried and torn for salad. Sara help with a dessert, whipping cream with a mixer and tasting it as it was stirred in with cherries. When rolls came out of the oven, she was given one to eat along with a spoon of soft butter that melted immediately. The smell and taste made her eyes close as the other women laughed.

Sister Deborah arrived announcing that lunch tables were set up causing another scramble as tablecloths and dinnerware were stacked together and taken outside. Tables would be a gracious term—wide wooden boards placed on triangle frames and a hodge-podge of chairs made up the outdoor dining furniture. Sara was amazed that the group worked and talked and laughed with such quiet reserve. There was much laughter and more talk, but nothing loud or boisterous that broke the peaceful sense of community.

She heard a bell from the front of the house—an old fashioned ring, muted and pleasing as the sound spread across the farm—and food appeared in the hands of all in the kitchen. Baked chicken, pasta with tomato sauce, beans and peas, carrots, a yellow vegetable, and two different salads were placed down the center of the long table. She carried two large baskets of hot bread. By the time pitchers of water, tea and juice were placed on the table, Grissom and the women in the garden arrived and as they washed up on the porch, Sara knew he had made quick friends.

Two of the nuns arrived holding bottles of wine. "Sister Deborah said to open these!" as the sister appeared with stacked glasses.

"It's a special occasion." And everyone accepted her announcement as wine bottles were passed. Sara noticed they did not use wine glasses. When everyone found a chair—Grissom was placed between two of the women from the garden with Sara's mother across the table—their community leader, the one named Mother, stood to recite a blessing. Sara couldn't resist—she kept her eyes open watching the others.

Grissom caught her eye and winked before turning his attention to the women around him. They passed bowls and platters, filling plates with food, and the air filled with murmured conversations. Again, Sara noticed the calm serenity of this place even with a multitude of voices in a dozen conversations.

Sister Deborah, seated to Sara's right, said, "Your Mr. Grissom has your mother talking. That's good. Sometimes she is so quiet that I believe she has forgotten her own voice." The two women watched as Laura responded to a question. She was smiling with her answer.

"Is she okay?"

This time Sister Deborah smiled. "Yes, she's found her place. She works hours in the garden." She nodded at the group around Grissom. "I didn't realize he would find a common interest in growing vegetables."

"It's the bugs," Sara said. "His passion in life—has all kinds of insects, studies them in growth stages." She looked at the nun. "You didn't know?"

"No, we were discussing gardening problems when bugs came up. I realized he knew about insects—that's why I asked Laura to show him. She's been worried about some little bug; doesn't want to use spray on anything."

This gave Sara something to think about as she continued talking to Sister Deborah about the garden, what they were growing. Easy conversations without darkness or dying or crime, Sara thought. It was an oasis of tranquility and she could understand why her mother needed to live here.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Few Days with Two Mothers Chapter 7**

"Will you move to Las Vegas?" Sister Deborah had skillfully arranged to be alone with Sara. Grissom continued talking to the group at the table but they had pushed aside the plates, added a book to their discussion and he was writing or drawing something on paper. An audience—or students—and he was a teacher with the women asking questions, leaning toward him as he talked.

She did not know the answer to the question and said as much. "I'm not sure I could live in the desert."

The nun's arm circled Sara's back and grasped her arm. "It's a big world out there, Sara. Step out and take a chance." She tilted her head in the direction of Grissom. "He's a good man. We are a strange society to most men, but not your Grissom." They walked through flower gardens and fruit trees as Sister Deborah talked. "Your mother will be fine here. She does not want you to determine how you live based on what she has chosen."

"She doesn't talk to me."

The two women had stopped in the shade of trees far enough away from the house so that could hear the bees in the trees yet they could watch the man at the table as he talked to the women.

"Your mother has had a very unfortunate life, Sara. No one wishes for that. By choosing to live here, becoming a part of our community, she has found a certain kind of peace. She has improved every week—you know that." They walked as she continued. "Go to the desert. See how you like it." Her elbow nudged Sara. "Your Mr. Grissom is enjoyable company."

When Sara looked at the nun, she saw twinkling eyes and a conspiratorial smile. "Write you mother a letter every week or so. She'd like that. Come back to visit us. We change very slowly."

The community members gathered in mid-afternoon for prayer in the small chapel. Sara never joined them and today, she took Grissom to a rough swing hanging from metal frame.

"What do you think of this place?" She asked. "You don't think it's weird? Having a mother living in a place like this?"

Grissom glanced at her. He would never admit that he knew her mother's history; he would leave that for her to tell. "No. It is a good place, tranquil." He kissed her hand. "I can not imagine you in a place like this, but I can understand the peace one would find—a retreat of sorts." This time he chuckled. "You should be in Vegas with me."

Sara smiled. "I'll think about it. I really will."

Late in the day, Sara and Grissom left the farm. His enthusiasm continued as he described the garden bugs—Diabrotica beetles—were munching their way through the vegetables.

"They don't use insecticides which is good, so we did a little murder by fingernail." He enjoyed describing their efforts. "I'm not sure they can keep pace but they can try. They need a beneficial insect habitat—that's what we were drawing after lunch." He reached for her hand. "I enjoyed meeting your mother. Thank you."

SSGGSSGGSSGG

They stopped to eat before they reached San Francisco. Sara drove into Berkeley along a street packed with cafes, bistros, diners, and trattorias until she wedged the car into an impossibly small parking space.

"Best Chicago style pizza in the west." She said while they were standing in line. Afterwards, he had to agree when the cheese and toppings and crust were well worth their wait.

Grissom would spend one more night before returning to Las Vegas. Unspoken, they both knew once inside her apartment they would not want food. In the dark, cool apartment, he wrapped arms around her and felt her skin warm under his hands.

_A/N: One more chapter--we will post later today so it's wrapped before the holidays! Thanks for reading--leave us a comment at the end! _


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This is the last chapter of our short story! Enjoy—we have one more story in this series; Sara moves to Las Vegas. We will post it after December 1._

**A Few Days with Two Mothers Chapter 8**

Time seemed to stop. Her arms and legs were round him as sleek silky ropes tying them together. He could not let her go; certain she had been made for him. In a world filled with lovers, Grissom had never taken much interest in women who sought him. A dinner or a movie or a concert ended most of his attempts at dating. He had shelved the idea of sex just for the act or a moment of passion—until this woman had pulled him into the room at a beachside motel. Even as he kissed her, he smiled at the memory. Maybe she had not pulled him because he had gone quite willingly.

It had been years since he had even thought he might love a woman. Yet, he had known that first afternoon, in a white rented room when they had purchased what they needed in a convenience store, Sara was different. Without her, he simply ached. He wanted to spend time with her, talk to her, to watch her. He wanted to feel her hand on his face, to see her tuck her hair behind her ear, and listen as she talked with her lifting questioning tone. He wanted to talk about her dreams and hopes, to know her secrets.

Whispered words brought him to the final moment, and, he again thought of rising tides and the sea as he felt the warm movements around him. It was easy to love her.

In the middle of the night, he woke to find her dark eyes watching him. "You don't sleep much, do you?"

"Sometimes I do—I will sleep ten or twelve hours without waking. But with you, I like to watch you sleep, to know you are here."

He wrapped arms around her. "Sleep, honey. I'll be here when you wake up—I won't leave you." He spoke of a silent concern, his as well as hers. He laced his fingers with hers as they slept.

GGSSGGSSGGSS

Grissom left the next morning, leaving Sara sitting on the steps of her apartment, just as she had found him. He was not returning to Vegas until later, flying south to Los Angeles. He needed to visit his own mother who lived in her own special world of silence.

When his mother opened her door, the rapid movement of her hands, the smile on her face was enough to let him know she was happy, she was telling him he should visit more often, she had lunch waiting. Her words were secondary to her hands. Of course, he was slow—speaking first, taking a few minutes to remember he must face her so she could read his lips, gradually remembering signs and the shortcuts of life with a deaf person.

His routine had always been to visit his mother every eight weeks. Since meeting Sara, he had stretched his visits to three months. She never asked and he let her believe it was work that kept him away. Today, he made the decision to tell her about Sara.

His mother knew him. The two of them had been, still were, a close family, mother and son, since his father had died decades ago. Her hearing loss occurred when he was barely a teenager giving him responsibilities of the hearing world. She depended on him even as she was furiously independent and it had been his mother who literally shoved him out her door to find his own life. And she was a woman who used common sense instead of science for much of her decisions—and she was usually completely accurate in her assessment of any situation.

She had worried when her only child showed little interest in childhood games or playing with other children. He invented his own kind of play spending hours in the grass, crawling around on his belly plucking beetles and bugs from the ground. One day, his father brought home a set of encyclopedias—not the children's version—and their son found an academic obsession that developed into his lifelong passion Now she worried that his solitary pursuit would work to keep him alone for his entire life.

Mother and son ate lunch, talking with voices and hands. With a mother's intuition, she knew he had not come from work; he was rested and excited at the same time. When she asked where he had been, his startled expression caused her to laugh. He laughed with her; he had never kept many secrets from her. He described the woman he had left in San Francisco, how much he enjoyed talking with her, their common interests, her willingness to take him as he was. His mother asked if he loved Sara.

Before he could answer, she said, "Love doesn't happen in a few days, Gil. True love needs time to grow into something strong, its commitment and dedication and a belief in each other."

He expected nothing else from his mother who still loved his father, probably more today than when he died. She had wrapped presents for him every Christmas for years after he died. She still had his personal things in her bedroom, and if she had ever looked at another man as a potential companion, he was unaware of it.

Grissom smiled for a moment before he gave the only answer his mother would understand. His mother smiled. She had wanted him to find someone for years and at her age had almost given up hope that her son, a gentle intelligent man, would find that person. She asked more questions, frowning when he told her that Sara lived in San Francisco and leading to other questions about her work, about his work. She would never tell him, but she did not like Las Vegas, too much visual stimulation for her eyes. The city had captivated her son and that was the only positive thing she could say about Vegas.

They spent a long afternoon together. She found it easy to be with her son; he knew he could do nothing wrong in her eyes. He told her Sara's story about the doll. She frowned as he finished.

"Be cautious, Gil." His mother signed. He thought her word was cautious, but she could have meant careful. He signed that he would be careful.

He would return to work tonight even though she kept a room ready for him—actually the same room he had as a kid had been left almost unchanged since his childhood.

"Bring your Sara to visit." His mother signed as he got into the rental car. "I want to meet her." He did not answer; he knew it had been difficult for Sara to take him to the religious community to meet her mother. She had no idea of the conflict he had in introducing his mother to her. Where Sara's mother was quiet and unquestioning, his mother would assault Sara with a thousand questions. He could imagine the visit and it caused an instant headache behind his eyes. He knew the secret history Sara hid about her mother; he had his own—a father dead of heart disease at forty-five, a mother with a congenital hearing loss. It scared him to think about his own future and that of a woman fifteen years younger.

Not for the first time, these thoughts stayed with him as he boarded his flight to Las Vegas.

XXXX

His townhouse was as he left it; bare, unadorned except for the framed butterflies and insects, totally unwelcoming compared to the small apartment he had left in San Francisco. He wanted Sara here so she could put her touch on this place. They could live together. They could work together. He stretched out on his couch to sleep for a few hours. He would work it out, present her with an offer she couldn't refuse. He chuckled with that thought and closed his eyes.

As he walked into work, early as usual, his friend and supervisor met him in the hall.

"Hey, Gil." Brass called. "We got one in the suburbs tonight—early start—suicide in the bathtub."

_A/N: You know where we are going with the next one! Keep reading!! It has some fluff and some angst as we fill in the gaps!_


End file.
